


She's The Duchess

by valafatoren



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce, PIERCE Tamora - Works
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Canon Universe, Forum: Goldenlake, Friendship, Gangs, Gen, Goldenlake Pentathlon, Thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valafatoren/pseuds/valafatoren
Summary: Emelan Gang AU.“Who’s that?” they whisper as she glides through the halls.“She’s the duchess,” they whisper back, eyes lit up in awe.Sandry's the newest member of Emelan's most notorious gang, and she's out changing the world. Break-ins, making new friends, helping those in need and finding a pet? Nothing's too large for Sandrilene fa Toren.





	1. Membership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vedris runs Emelan's most notorious gang and Sandry wants in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Event: Stormy Show Jumping  
> Words: 630  
> Comments: the first of a five part challenge I'm working on. Enjoy!

“Do you think the answer is going to magically change every time you ask, or are you doing this purely for the sake of irritating me?”

“Let me join,” Sandrilene fa Toren’s eyes flashed dangerously, cornflower blue turning steely. She thrust her chin out pugnaciously, sending out a silent challenge for disagreement. 

Vedris, known as Duke, the leader of Emelan’s most notorious gang to everyone else, met her gaze firmly. “This is not the life I want for my only niece. I have given you the chance to lead a respectable life, away from my work. You know what dirty things go on in the gang.”

“And I still whole-heartedly want to join. You don’t get to dictate what I do with my own life,” Sandry shot back, hands on her hips. She tried to keep her voice firm, making sure it didn’t stray too far into a whine. Pulling together all of her height, she looked on resolutely ahead, button nose upturned. 

“No,” his voice turned dark, “But I run the gang, and no one leaves or joins, or does anything without my say. You won’t get anywhere if you try to sweet-talk one of the members into letting you in.” 

Sandry ground her teeth, jaw clenching, “You need a mage for this job. I am one. You don’t even have to pay me to do the work, or extra to keep quiet about it.” 

“Money’s not a problem,” Vedris stated, looking down at her, “Besides we have a fully qualified weather witch already.” 

“A weather witch,” Sandry wrinkled her nose, “That’s not always useful. I would be.” 

She took Vedris’s silence as an offer to continue and passionately added, “Uncle, I know you care about me but I can take care of myself.”

“I said no, and that’s final,” Vedris ordered, slamming his hand down on the table. Sandry remained standing there defiantly, cheeks flushed, braids swinging as she stomped a foot down. 

“You need me,” she informed him, knowing full well that he knew that too, and it would only serve to aggravate him further. She also knew she was being ridiculously stubborn - how many times had she requested to be allowed to be a part of the gang and turned down? – but she still clung desperately onto her dream. She would work in the gang with her uncle one way or another. She’d just have to show them how much she was worth until they were desperate to have her. She, and all the other stitch witches were able to do more than make pretty fabrics. It was almost an injustice to restrict them so!

“You need me,” she repeated mulishly, not backing down even as Vedris rose to all of his ex-pirate height and loomed over her. She was a bear, she was ten feet tall, she was courageous…

…And she was in the gang. Sandry blinked, processing the information. 

“Could you repeat that?” she felt bubbly, her anger dissipating as quickly as her work became undone on a spindle. She stood up on her tiptoes, as if that would make the words come quicker. 

“You’re in, on certain conditions,” Vedris repeated reluctantly, and Sandry felt a thrill of glee run through her. After so many arguments and debates, she was in. No more watching at the sidelines, no more feelings of helplessness, she was in. She could still see anger in Vedris’s deep set eyes, but now overshadowed by worry and acceptance. 

She hopped forward and kissed him on the cheek, “Don’t worry, I’m going to be the best gang member Emelan has ever seen. Those Harriers won’t know what hit them, I’m going to take Summersea by storm.” 

“That’s what I’m worried about. Nothing's ever going to be quite the same again."


	2. Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who else but Sandry could rob a house, smash a crystal and make a friend at the same time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Event: Cross Country Run   
> Words: 1952  
> Comments: Lightly edited, sorry for any magical inaccuracies or gaping plot holes

“This is boring,” Sandry confided in the weather witch as they crouched behind the bushes. She studied the greenery without interest, then glanced up at the darkened sky. Dismal grey. She supposed it was the perfect time for a heist – who would want to be out at this hour and weather? Sandry yawned. In fact, she wouldn’t have been out at this hour voluntarily if she hadn’t been so focused on proving to her uncle that she was a valuable member. 

The weather witch glared, “If you’re going to keep attempting to talk to me, at least call me by my name, Tris.” 

Sandry beamed, and began chatting earnestly, “Oh, you can talk! I was beginning to wonder when you didn’t reply for so long. I’m Sandry by the way.” She tried to meet the other girl’s gaze but ended up staring at the side of a head. 

Tris continued staring balefully at a spot on the ground and after a while, where she seemed to be regretting her choice of replying, seemed to give in to Sandry and understand that there was no other option except to continue the conversation. 

“It is rather boring, but it’s a necessary part of the operation, if you do want to succeed and get these jewels. We must be patient while they check that our information is correct. It’s not just a simple run and grab, there are factors to consider.” 

“Oh I know that,” Sandry sighed a little wistfully, “But somehow I imagined this whole thing to be so much more,” she paused, struggling for the word, hands waving enthusiastically as if to encapsulate her true meaning. 

“Exciting? Action-packed? Adventurous?” Tris offered, raising one red eyebrow behind the frame of her spectacles. 

“Yes,” Sandry nodded empathetically, grabbing Tris’s hands together and shaking them, “You understand me exactly!” 

Sandry could see Tris making an awkward face and let go of her hands. The last thing she wanted to do was scare away the other girl, not when she had just become so adamant on them being friends. 

Tris sighed slowly and nudged Sandry, “Stay aware. We mustn’t miss the signal.” 

Sandry nodded seriously, eyes open and honest, “Of course. Oh, I do wish the weather were nicer, don’t you? Can’t you do something like send the storm away?”

Tris stared, eyes piercing, “That would use a great deal of strength, and another storm would only arrive. And besides,” she sniffed, “I rather like the weather myself.” 

“That’s alright,” Sandry assured her, smiling, “It’s just wishful thinking on my behalf.” Tris fell silent, studying one of her many braids and Sandry tried not to squirm in anticipation and boredom. They were to rob a rich merchant’s house, slipping in and out while most of the household was on holiday. She tried not to sulk about how her uncle refused to train her in simple pick pocketing. Basic work should not be below anyone. 

Still, she knew her job and she had already done most of it well, spelling all of their clothes so as not to rustle or make a noise, and made it stain-proof. She admired her handiwork now, the way the mud just slipped off her dress without a trace, letting out a little hum of approval and happiness as it worked perfectly. 

And then Tris was moving, standing up and dragging at her arm. Sandry wilted in disappointment at missing the signal, but stood up herself and hurried along, heart leaping. 

Her breaths were harsh and dry in her throat as they sidled up towards the wall and moved along, thick vines shielding them from view. Her slippers gripped the ground as she hopped along, nimbly avoiding mossy patches. One, two, three, four, five steps. Sandry swallowed deeply, inhaled, and then stepped deep into a bush. Her fingers found the latch to the secret door and she worked it open, and stepped down into the tunnel. Seeing Tris step into the bush, her energy levels rose with the fast pounding of her heart. They were really doing this.   
She bounded along a step before she was aware of Tris hissing. 

“My dress,” she looked down, regarding Sandry with annoyance, and gesturing to where the fabric had caught onto the bush. Sandry waved her fingers in reply, sending out a message to the threads to snake away and let go of the plant, where they slid along the ground before returning to their original positions on the gown. 

Sandry quirked an eyebrow, smiling crookedly, as Tris grumbled and nodded her head in gratitude, “Let’s go.”

The tunnel was lit by moonlight, with holes in the roof at regular intervals likely hidden by shrubbery. Made of plain rock, probably with mage help, it was a secret escape for the rich members of the household to flee in case of an assassination attempt. It was also the perfect place for robbers to enter and leave, Sandry reflected. 

She wondered what they had to do to get the information on it. 

Continuing her steady stride, they quickly reached a trapdoor in the wall. Sandry put her ear to it. Nothing. She eyes Tris, slightly nervous, who nodded curtly. The small movement reassured her, she steeled her nerves and reached out to gently rap it twice. Three knocks returned, the door opened and she stepped out into the cellar, seeing two members of her uncle’s gang waiting for them. 

Tris wrinkled her nose, “How typical. They couldn’t even think of a good place to have it lead.” 

Sandry nodded, and filed that away in her mind as she hopped forward and up the stairs, brimming with energy. She dimly heard Tris whisper about servants staying behind but paid it little heed, instead admiring the gorgeous weaving of a rug. The house had been stripped of its valuables already, save for one room, and she sniffed at the people who didn’t value good weaving. She would have taken the rug. 

Erdogun took a look down each side of the corridor gestured firmly for them to follow. They padded silently up some stairs, Sandry unconsciously holding her breath, more so from anticipation than nervousness now. 

The next few minutes passed in a blur of sharp breaths and tip toes, with the occasional burst of magic as she moved carpets and curtains away and back. They moved along the house quickly and without a trace, leaving nothing behind for tracker-mages, not even a moved thread where someone had made contact, Sandry taking a great deal of care and pride with each whisper of her mind. 

And before long they were standing outside the study door, the rich oak swinging open to reveal its bounty. A huge fireplace with a mantelpiece was the key feature of the room directly opposite them, with a polished wooden desk situated to one side, a clutter of knick-knacks scattered on top and throughout the room on various stands and tables. 

“We’ve got a problem,” Tris breathed, squinting at the room. 

Sandry whirled around, a step away from the doorway, “What’s wrong?”

“I was hoping to lift us over, but the roof has been spelled as well,” Tris muttered, “There’s no way to get in without breaching the walls of the spell. Even if we could blast through, an alert would bring everyone in the neighbourhood running. We need the key.”

Sandry nodded, but didn’t step back. That was logic she could not argue against, but hoped to defeat, “What would this key be? Do you think they’d keep in in the room?”

“Some kind of jewel probably,” Tris was speaking more to herself, “Sometimes shaped like a key, but most likely some big gold thing with a jewel. Probably kept in the study, it is the safest spot after all. If only we could get in and smash it.”

“Could we use a stick to smash it? Or could you lightning blast it?” Sandry inquired.

Tris shook her head firmly, “Any foreign objects crossing would set off the alarm. That includes a lightning bolt.” 

“What about that amulet there?” …offered, pointing to a delicate gold piece with some type of jewel or glass in it. Sandry wished she had paid more attention when she had learnt about precious stones. 

“That’ll be it,” Tris nodded. 

Sandry clapped her hands together, “Well that’s half of the problem solved! Are you sure you can’t lightning blast it?”

Tris’s reply sounded suspiciously like a growl, “No. And you can’t solve all your problems by smashing them.” Sandry pouted with good will and turned back to study the amulet. 

“I wish it were possible though,” Tris’s voice cut through the air, “Believe me, I’ve tried.” 

Sandry giggled, one hand raised elegantly to cover her mouth. 

Tris glared, but it was half-hearted, and not directed at her, “We might as well call this whole thing off. There’s no way we can break a key without actually entering the room. 

Sandry’s eyes flashed dangerously, “I am not giving up on my first mission.” She stood up a little straighter, “I am not!”

Tris stepped forward and Sandry strengthened her stance, shoulders wide and firmly set, eyes hard.

“Watch.”

A smile spread across Sandry’s face, lighting her up. With a single thought in her mind, the metal thread in a tapestry hanging on the wall came sliding out. Darting along the ground, each thread came together forming into a strong rope that kept moving towards the desk. She focused on the weave, the way each little thread slid around its neighbour, winding, swirling, and jumping over each other to wrap around another thread. 

Sandry grinned, glowing with power. She valued efficiency, but sometimes it was nice to let the magic flow the way it wanted to. 

Her rope reached the table, and swirled up a leg, where once it alighted, scooped up the amulet. Held strong by the force of her magic, the rope and its prize went over to the mantelpiece where a gorgeous diamond was resting. The rope and amulet went up, and came smashing down, the diamond and key colliding and shattering the stone into dozens of tiny shards that scattered over the floor. 

Something not quite visible flickered and disappeared in the corner of her eye, and she saw Tris wipe her forehead and peer closer. 

“It’s gone,” Tris said hoarsely, “You broke the key and the magic wards.” She heard a thud. The other to gang members had each dropped the sacks they were holding and were staring in open awe. Sandry shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of their gazes, but then fixed her posture. She was strong, she had solved the problem. 

“How?” Erdogun muttered, and Sandry smiled broadly, and lowered her hands gently.

“Nothing goes in, nothing comes out, no magic sent at the wall either,” she blushed, “Luckily some people just don’t understand ambient magic!”

"She's the Duke's niece, and powerful in her own right. She's one to keep an eye out for," the other member whispered.

Snapping out of her stupor, Tris became a flurry of action and curt commands. They worked quickly, stripping the office bare of jewels as Sandry sent the threads back to where they belonged. She buzzed throughout the whole thing, floating on elation, as she saw jewel after jewel be stuffed into a sack. 

When at last they burst out of the house, Sandry still gleeful and jubilant at her success, Tris begrudging showing a speck of approval, Sandry turned to Tris and clasped her hands once more. 

“That was fun,” she smiled, and it was a simple smile of offered friendship, “Let’s do that again.”

Tris merely nodded in return, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips.


	3. Knives Are Sharp, But Puppies Are Sharper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandry brings back a furry recruit and it earns its place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Event: Sharp Shooting   
> Words: 223  
> Comments: Rules for this state 100-200 words, let's pretend I didn't go over.

Sandry hadn’t meant to return with a dog. But after seeing some boys beat it up in an alleyway, the easiest option had seemed to string them up in cocoons and take the dog for herself. 

And that was how she wound up standing in front of her uncle, a quivering mass in her arms, while dozens of dangerous men and women crowded around curiously. She held firm under their gazes, and placed the mass on the ground. 

“It’s just a puppy,” she protested obstinately. “It won’t cause much fuss.”

“On the contrary,” Vedris leaned forward, “It will cause a lot of fuss.” 

Sandry glared furiously, but her wrath was averted as the noise of a fight made her turn, just in time to see the gleam of a dagger as it raced towards her. 

She froze, transfixed, watching as the intruder was torn down, blood splattering, limbs flying, watching as the dagger soared closer to her heart. 

All of a sudden something collided with her and the world turned sideways. She crashed into the ground, the stone floor slamming into her body.

The dagger sunk into the wall right behind where she was standing. 

Sandry pushed herself up onto her elbows and rose woozily, staring at the puppy which had pushed her out of the way and now lay on the stone floor rolling playfully. 

“Well,” Vedris said hoarsely, “Maybe you can keep the puppy.”


	4. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandry gets an idea in her head and enlists Daja and Tris to help her. After all, there's nothing like sabotaging carts for team bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Event: Synchronised Swimming   
> Words: 1810  
> Comments: unedited, i'll come back later

It wasn’t that she was particularly nice or altruistic, Sandry thought. After all, she was a member of Emelan’s most notorious gang which could hardly be considered nice. Just, there was something inside of her that burned when she saw them and the signs of their want: their grubby little faces, missing teeth, greedy, pulling hands that clung and nipped at anyone passing, and the way they tilted their head, eyes watering and begged. 

Sandry clenched her fists, and stared out the open window of her carriage. The burning grew, rising out of her gut and up her chest, encasing her heart until she felt aflame with injustice. She furiously wiped away a stray tear and set a determined expression on her face. Oh, how dare those Bags care about emerald earrings more than their people. Or did they not consider those living in the slums people at all? 

She wasn’t sure which was worse. Her carriage rode on, each jerk and bump a kick in the gut at how she had ignored them too. 

She gazed out the window, “No one’s going to help you,” she whispered softly and it felt so much like a damnation, “But I will.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut and licked her lips, evaporating and sucking away the last of the salt.

She opened her eyes, “Change of plan,” she said, voice hard, to the driver, “Stop by 42 Cheeseman St.”

…

If Sandry was a roaring flame, Daja was a steady burn. Solid, unwavering, always bringing light. 

Sandry stood in the doorway of her house, a little unsure of how to enter. It had been a while since she had visited, and she wasn’t quite sure how the little girl in a stained tunic clutching a plain staff fit into this street. 

“Sandry!” the door opened, and Daja’s harmonic voice flowed out as the young woman stepped forward, arms open. Sandry collapsed into them gratefully, arms wrapping tightly around her. 

“Woah there, come sit down and tell me what problem’s on your mind,” Daja spoke calmly, but Sandry could hear the warm smile in her tone. 

She smiled back, Daja had always been able to understand her moods. 

She allowed herself to be guided to a seat but rose when she saw Daja move towards the kitchen.

“Let me help,” she protested at Daja’s shake of her head. She flopped back down deep into the armchair, and accepted a cup of tea when Daja returned. 

“Well?” Daja’s voice broke through her thoughts and Sandry jolted up, then laughed. 

“Alright, I’m talking now,” she grinned. Sandry fell into her story effortlessly, gracious of Daja’s empathetic face. When she finished, Daja’s face was contemplative. 

“So you care about the people in the slums. Tell me though, are you merely upset or do you want to do something about it?”

Sandry’s eyes shone, and she smiled wickedly, “I’ve got a plan.” 

Daja’s face grew amused, but she nodded seriously, “I’m listening.”

…

“It will only work if we work together,” Sandry whispered fiercely, as they made their way through the town. 

Daja murmured confirmation, swinging her staff idly, “So the carts arrive at noon. Who are we meeting again?”

Nodding seriously, blue eyes clear, Sandry replied, “My friend Tris,” she paused, “And my dog.”

Daja’s eyebrows rose and she lifted her broad shoulders in a shrug, “Is that a recent acquisition?”

Sandry flushed pink, “Well, sort of. I wasn’t thinking long term when I picked him up.”

“Of course,” Daja said wryly, slinging an arm around Sandry’s shoulder, “Now that giant thing and the redhead wouldn’t happen to be the people we’re meeting, would they?”

Sandry let out a squeal of joy, and bounded towards them, the dog replying in a similarly jubilant fashion. Tris scowled half-heartedly in reply, as Sandry wrapped her up in a hug, a whirlwind of skirts and ribboned braids. She finally pulled away, and turned to introduce the two other girls and found them facing off with each other, frowns mirrored. 

Her smile waned a little, but she forced her tone to stay light, “Daja this is Tris. Tris, Daja.”

“Trader,” Tris’s voice was cold, prim, her hands tucked neatly into her skirt. She turned up her nose and stared disdainfully at Daja’s tunic. 

Daja’s grip on her staff tightened, “Merchant.”

Tris sniffed, “Mage, actually.”

“Mage actually,” Daja copied, a dangerous boredom in her tone. 

Sensing an upcoming explosion, Sandry diplomatically glided between the two of them, reaching out both hands to place on different shoulders. “Daja. And Tris,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. 

They broke their glare at the same time, turning to Sandry. 

“Please explain why I dragged myself and this small bear down here,” Tris asked, “All I managed to get from the message – if I may add, your handwriting is simply atrocious – was that you had decided to play pariah to those in need and needed help sabotaging a cart do to so.”

Daja nodded sagely, “That sounds about right.”

“I want to hear from Sandry,” Tris snapped back. Daja remained indifferent, her face neutral disinterest. 

Sandry spread her hands, placating. When she spoke her voice was quiet, but the authority unmistakeable, “I want to change things. I know,” she took a deep breath, “I know we can’t expect overnight changes no matter how much meddling I do,” she cracked a smile, before turning serious again, “But the first thing we can do is make sure these people have enough money to buy food.”

“I don’t see why we have to help-“ Tris began.

Daja cut in, “I’m in.”

Tris glared icily, “I’m in too. Why us, though?”

“Why not?” Sandry replied, “Someone’s got to. Now, I may have overheard some people in Vedris’ gang talking about some carts travelling through with taxes and wares from outer Emelan. They aren’t going after it because it’s going to be guarded by a mage.”

Tris scowled, “Why didn’t I hear about this?” 

Sandry tapped Tris on the nose, “Top secret meeting of Uncle’s,” she paused, “I, of course, just happened to be passing by.” 

“Of course,” Daja murmured. 

“But, I also know that the mage is just mostly for show. He’s only a student at Lightsbridge specialising in charms.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Lightsbridge,” Tris sniffed. 

“Just that they tend not to understand ambient mages,” Sandry and Daja crowed together. 

Tris’s eyes lit up with understanding, “Well, that’ll be good surprise when we hit,” she grinned for the first time, teeth flashing. Sandry returned it, and Daja begrudgingly nodded. 

“So here’s my idea…”

…

It was almost pitiful how bad the guards were, considering how they were supposed to be guarding the equivalent of a duke’s ransom. After waiting for an hour or so (alas, it was still something Sandry was not used to) the horses and carts had finally entered the square where they lay. 

Tris was the first to action, stepping out and summoning a wind to stop the carts where they were, the rushing air startling the horses and halting them. Daja stood beside her, almost protectively, Sandry wondered, as chaos ensued. Noise filled the air, the yelling of the guards, the clanging of the weapons. Sandry let it enclose around her like a shield, and stepped out defiantly. 

“They’re just girls,” one of the guards called out, leering. Sandry’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward, dress swirling around her feet and head high, the perfect image of a wrathful goddess. 

One soldier raised their weapon menacingly, and charged. 

“I’ll show you what girls can do,” Sandry yelled passionately. That was when their clothes began to attack them. 

The threads seemed to have a mind of their own, tops rising up over heads and wrapping around faces, pants joining legs together, sleeves dragging hands to be bound behind their backs. 

Some tried to grab their weapons and stop the onslaught of their fabric, but found the metal to be burning red. The carts shuddered, and fell to the ground, liquidised metal seeping out from underneath. Sandry turned to Daja and grinned, eyes shining with pride. 

That was just before the world exploded in light and she heard Daja and Tris scream in unison, the echoes ricocheting in her brain even after she could no longer see.

…

Sandry groaned audibly, opening her eyes blearily to find herself on the stone ground, a few metres away from where she had been standing. Her dog was barking crazily from where they left him tied up, and Daja and Tris were in front of her, hand in hand, their other hands outstretched, pointing, as a prison of lightning and metal grew around a frantically murmuring man. 

Shakily uprighting herself, Sandry staggered over, and placed one of her hands upon theirs. Taking strength from each other, the three young mages breathed in in unison, and as they breathed out, pushed with every fibre of their being an endless flow of power and strength, a kaleidoscope of colours exploding in front of their eyes.

Sandry closed her eyes and saw. Saw the three threads of magic, coming out of each of their chests, entwining together an encasing another small glimmer. 

Our threads are so weak, she thought, tilting her head. So small, so insignificant by themselves, so easily pulled apart. But together, they are strong. Together, we are strong. 

And then suddenly it was over, and they were taking heaving breaths, clutching tightly onto one another as they surveyed what they had truly done. 

It was complete carnage, incapacitated soldiers on the ground, wood and metal scattered all over the square. And in the centre, a gleaming dome, a weaving of metal that sparked occasionally with miniature lightning bolts. The chests of coins were on the ground, surrounded by the remains of carts, the horses having run off. 

“Sandry,” Tris spoke shakily, voice rising in pitch as her pale face turned accusational, “Were you planning on letting us know we were facing a great mage!”

Sandry stared, then began to smile. Soon she was laughing, hands clutching her stomach as she gasped for air. Daja joined her, and Tris even sheepishly allowed herself a grin, “I’d like a little warning next time,” she grumbled.

“Next time?” Daja raised an eyebrow. 

Tris sniffed, “Well if I’m going to spend more time with you, it seems like a fair assumption that Sandry’s going to get some wild idea in her head again, helping some poor soul or other.”

“Hey!” Sandry protested at their knowing gazes, but it fell into a heartfelt beam, “That sounds good,” she murmured softly.

“The three of us,” Daja mused, playing around with the words, “I like that.”

Tris’s eyes gleamed, “Think of the things we will do.”

“Together we’re strong,” Sandry spoke, and clasped their hands. 

“Together,” Tris and Daja echoed back.


	5. She's The Duchess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandry is everything the world ever needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Event: Frisky Fencing  
> Words: 844  
> Comments: finished ten minutes before a midnight deadline, i think i'm a bit dead

If Sandry thought using the money she got from sabotaging the tax carts would stop the fire inside of her, she was to be disappointed. In fact, it only seemed to sate the fire inside of her, as if it were pleased for now, but would seek further sustenance. 

“Here you go,” she smiled prettily, bending down to hands a little girl a little bag of coins. The girl snatched the bag quickly, as if would disappear into air if she didn’t have any physical proof, scampered back a few steps, but then gave a shy, toothy smile before skipping off. 

“You know,” drawled a voice behind her, “You might just be the weirdest thief I’ve ever seen, and believe me,” he paused, “I’ve seen a lot of weird things.”

Sandry spun around indignantly, hands flying to her hips, “Oh yeah,” she challenged, glaring at the boy, “What makes me so weird?”

The boy, a young man really, of about her age she estimated, shrugged carelessly from where he perched on top of a metal cage she had helped create. He slid down languidly, every moment flowing and smooth. He alighted in front of her, mock bowed deeply, and grabbed one of her hands to place a kiss. Instead of blushing as she usually would, she just found herself charmed. His open nature had an almost brotherly feel. 

“Come on now,” he teased, “Don’t scowl at me, give me a grin won’tcha?” he wheedled, smiling charismatically. 

Sandry found her lips involuntarily upturning, but then scolded herself for being amused. 

“Not if you just insulted me I won’t,” she shot back. 

“Well that depends. Do you count weird as an insult? I was only saying that on account of you being a thief, managing to steal the tax money, an impressive feat if I do say so myself, but then not even keeping it for yourself but handing it right back out like candy. Tell me, where’s the profit in that?”

Sandry shook her head, braids flying, “There is no profit. I just wanted to help.”

“Well,” his voice was delighted, surprised, as if he had come across an entertaining joke, “Ain’t that an idea. I’m Briar, by the way, and I’m here to escort you to your uncle.” 

…

She should have known something was up as soon as she entered the first room. For one, there was the suspicious lack of shady characters loitering around the entrance, combined with soft whispers coming from the other room, as well as the smell of her favourite treat. Her stomach rumbled and she blushed furiously, at Briar’s uproarious laughter. 

“Get in there,” he shoved her back, “People are getting antsy.”

Wondrously, she stepped across the threshold into the giant warehouse which was the centre of the gang’s operations and home to her uncle’s throne. The second she came into view, the cheering started. 

It wasn’t pretty. Dozens of croaky voices, loud barks, and rough cheers mingled together, creating a raucous, discordant mess of noise. Sandry had never heard anything more beautiful. 

She skipped a step, and then walked in. Dozens of people swarmed her, gang members, kids from the street, people from all different backgrounds and occupations, patting her roughly on the back, telling her how her uncle must be proud of such a niece, telling her that her feat of sabotaging the carts was genius, telling her that she was a hero, and that she had saved their family from starvation, given them security, given them hope. Telling her that every single kid in the slums that had heard the story or received her efforts aspired to be her when they grew up. 

When she at last made her way through, bewildered, to stand in front of him, she was wrapped in a strong hug. 

“You’re a fine person, and a fine thief,” Vedris said gruffly, patting her awkwardly on her shoulder once he pulled away. She beamed, and tried not to show how much she was sniffling. “I’m proud to call you my niece,” he paused, “Even if you didn’t keep the gold.” 

She giggled softly, and hiccupped, a wave of emotion washing over her. 

“What’s that?” someone in the crowd yelled out, “The niece of a duke. A princess? A lady?”

Vedris frowned, and pulled up another chair beside his, guiding her to sit upon it. He faced the crowd, and spoke clearly, “She’s the Duchess.” 

The room exploded with noise once again, and Sandry surveyed it all, atop her throne, smiling crazily and crying at the same time. She sniffed once, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and gazed out at the people here for her. Then she smiled wickedly, eyes telling tales of things to come. For she was the Duchess, and her reign had just begun.

…

“Who’s that?” they whisper as she glides through the halls.

“She’s the duchess,” they whisper back, eye slit up in awe. 

Sandry, the girl who everybody loves, 

wonders if that sounds right. Hint: it does.


End file.
